Masquerade
by I Have Gone Away
Summary: A deeper look at a certain wyvern rider, his melancholy, and the woman of his fancy. Gerome x Lucina.
1. Preface

_**I figured this story should have a preface. It's not so much a preface as it is a mile of author's notes, but I figured I'd get this all out of the way here.**_

_**There is no pairing I love more in Awakening than Gerome x Lucina. I adore and appreciate many pairings in the game, but I have a flat-out obsession with those two together. I could go on and on, but instead, I'm going to pour all my adoration into this fic, and hopefully do this pairing some justice. Well...we'll see what happens.**_

_**It will mostly follow Gerome through the game, detailing his adventures, memories and feelings throughout. This is partially because I don't think he gets enough credit, and partially because I want to explore his character. The quiet, angsty types are the ones with the deepest emotions, and I'm anxious to find out how far I can go with them. **_

_**A few notes about the setting and plot so far. This story begins in the children's dismal future before they resolve to travel through time. In this timeline, Lucina has insisted on descending into the past on her own, while the other children remain to fight for their world. I realize this diverges from the game's original plot, but hopefully it will make sense for this story.**_

_**This is kind of a big step for me. Diving into a chaptered fic, and in present tense too! For this reason, I especially love constructive criticism or suggestions here. Even if the littlest thing seems badly worded, tell me about it. I want to know when I fall on my face—it's the best way to learn.**_

_**I truly hope you'll enjoy this as much as I will, dear reader.**_

_**In the words of Inigo... Let's dance.**_


	2. I

**I — **_**In which Gerome mourns, and the gift is given**_

* * *

Gerome lives in a world where death is commonplace. The stench of it rides on the black breath of each Risen, filling his nostrils with something so foul, he can taste it on his tongue. The Grimleal have a different flavor of death to offer, with the glittering runes and the mumbled incantations that flow like honey, but it only makes their killing blows are more effective. And always looming on the horizon is Grima himself, his call heralding more doom and destruction.

In this world, Gerome must kill. He's left with no choice. He must kill, or die himself. So each day he grows stronger, and each day he deals out death. Whether it be Risen or Grimleal matters little anymore. He only knows the opponent and his axe, and when they meet, the story ends. There is no emotion. No remorse. No tears.

Tears only come to him at night, when his mother's screams beckon them.

Tonight, he awakens to find himself crying once again. He is drenched in sweat, and his entire body is trembling. Tearing at his hair, he brings his knees to meet his chin, trying in vain to swallow his sobs.

Back then, he'd known it was simply a matter of time. One by one, each of his playmates was gently told that their mommy and daddy weren't coming home anymore. Gerome had watched each one of them crumple when they realized their invincible parents weren't as invincible as they thought. As one of the elder children, he'd figured it wouldn't hit him quite as hard.

But when Minerva landed beside him that fateful afternoon, he was proven wrong.

He vaguely remembers a figure, shrouded in shadow, trying to give him the news, but it was pointless. No one needed to tell him his parents were dead. It was clear enough to him in the empty place beside Chrom, were his father should be. In the wyvern's empty saddle, where his mother should be. In the anguished cries of both boy and dragon, loud enough for even Grima to take notice.

Each night, Gerome sees it in his dreams. It is always the same. His parents, Cherche and Frederick, both mighty knights serving mighty lords. His parents, screaming with the agony of death.

He grits his teeth, trying desperately to clear his mind. He truly needs the rest. There will be more killing to do tomorrow, and parents yet to avenge.

But, for now, he cries.

**...**

His nerves waltz under his skin as he faces the door. He cradles the gift a little closer, trying to understand the sensation. What reason had he to fear Lucina? They've been comrades-in-arms for years.

Shrugging away the jittery feelings, he raises a loose fist and raps on the door.

"Come in," Lucina bids him.

Gerome enters cautiously, scanning the room. The throne room is kept neat, but its age shows in the subtle disrepair. The most evident damage is in the hurriedly patched walls and scuffed floors, though such could be expected when a place typically reserved for diplomacy becomes an intermittent training hall for the Ylissean army. Upon closer inspection, he notes the once vivid green banner of Ylisse hanging limply from the ceiling, faded and frayed. And just beyond it sits the throne, gathering dust, for Lucina refuses to even touch it since her father's passing.

He relaxes when he finds her alone, facing off with a tattered training dummy. He doesn't want to encounter any of the others if he doesn't have to. He isn't one to socialize on a whim.

Lucina looks up from the shredded face of her opponent. Relaxing her stance, she smiles at him warmly. "Ah, Gerome! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His nervous feelings scamper about in his chest, but his expression remains stoic. "I come concerning your journey."

One of her eyebrows quirks with curiosity. "Oh? What of it?"

His words suddenly flee. Embarrassed at his sudden lack of grace, he shoves the bundle in his arms into her hands.

She seems stunned. Her eyes venture from the the gift to meet his own with a look of confusion. "Is this for me?"

"Yes," he says, thankful to find his voice once again. "I thought you might find use for it."

Gingerly, she unfolds the kerchief he has wrapped around the object. When it is revealed at last, she gasps with surprise. "Oh, Gerome..."

"You will encounter many familiar faces," he explains. "Both those of our foes, and those of our parents. And to both, the Brand in your eye will make your lineage clear." As an afterthought, he adds quietly, "It is my belief that the past should not be affected any more than it must be. This mask will serve to conceal your identity, and thereby serve to protect the Shepherds of the past from any knowledge of your pilgrimage through time."

Lucina scoops up the mask as if it is a baby bird. "The craftsmanship is superb," she notes, admiring it.

Inwardly, Gerome glows with pride. He'd built it to suit her. He'd spent many a day in the forge between battles, trying to shape the lump of bronze into a mask worthy of a royal. To conceal her Brand, yet still allow her to see, he'd crafted slotted vents instead of traditional gaping holes, cut with careful precision. There was the hammering too, hours upon hours of it, hoping the indentations would fit the contour of her face. He'd used his sleepless nights, along with the dwindling candlelight and the last of his mother's golden lacquer from Roseanne, to paint the fine outline. He'd put forth an enormous effort into that little mask, but for her protection, there's nothing he would not do.

But this, he decides, he will neglect to tell her.

Instead, he says, "It was hard to come by."

Her warm smile returns tenfold. "Well, it is much appreciated. Thank you, Gerome."

Everything inside him ripples, nearly causing him to stagger. With a silent curse, he turns the jerking movement into a formal bow before she has time to notice. "It is nothing."

The throne room doors burst open without warning. Standing there is a soldier, clad in the blue of the Ylissean army. Breathless, he cries, "Risen! Outside the castle!"

Gerome and Lucina look to one another, the beauty that had passed between them long gone. All that remains in their gazes is cold, hard realization. Yet again, they must risk their lives for their withering world. They've done it before, and they'll do it a thousand times more if it means the world their parents fought for could be saved.

They both stride quickly towards the doorway, matching pace. He slows somewhat so that she exits first.

"Have you alerted the others?" Lucina asks the soldier, the bite of urgency in her voice.

"N-No, milady! I sent another man to tell them," he replies nervously.

"Good," she says with a nod. Then she halts, considering her new mask before carefully handing it off to the man. "Please take this to my chamber. Make sure it is safe."

The man studies the object, a bit confused, but compliant. "Y-Yes, milady!"

She gives a final reaffirming nod, then breaks into a run down the hallway. Gerome sprints after her, watching her blue locks sway from behind.

**...**

The dusky hues of early dawn are just discernible when Gerome finally retires.

Tonight's battle was easily the hardest he and his comrades had ever fought. The Risen had arrived in droves, one after another, and struck with an eerie ferocity that never let up all night. The Grimleal had been behind the attack, no doubt. It was truly a miracle that they'd all survived the ordeal, scraping by with only minor injuries.

They had held their ground tonight, but Gerome knows just as well as the others that they couldn't hold back another onslaught like the one tonight. They next time they face the enemy on the field of battle, the castle will fall.

Fortunately, Naga has a pristine sense of timing. According to The Voice, the rite is prepared. Lucina will leave on this day dawning before him, and escape this hell.

He rips off his armor in a fit of groggy frustration. He'd known this day would come for some time now. Lucina had insisted upon going into the past on her own, and he had agreed to it. Then, he'd only considered his own wish: to impact himself and those of that timeline as little as possible. But now, he finds himself doubting his decision. He had protected Lucina all her life, just as his father had served her father. How can he abandon her so easily in her time of need? How can he send her into the unknown with no guarantee of protection for the horrors she will face? He'd gladly fight and die to reverse the cruel fate they share, but that vow meant little if the gaping chasm of time separated them.

For a moment, he is almost tempted to join in her crusade.

_Almost._

Then an image of two people flashes behind his eyes, like a bitter reminder, and he remembers why he did not want to go in the first place.

Thoroughly exhausted, he flops onto his bed, limbs strewn about haphazardly. He tries to convince himself that Lucina will be fine. She has unparalleled strength in her blade and in her character. Her skills in battle are second-to-none, and she is equally skilled with her words. And now, she had the most powerful weapon in that mask: A new face, a new identity, and a new life.

The thought of the mask makes him thrash around with frustration once more. No matter how well he'd contained his embarrassment, he'd still made a fool of himself in front of her. His only purpose had been to simply give her the mask, but his knees had quaked like a schoolgirl's. Why? He'd admired Lucina since they were children, but the feeling had become nothing more than reverence as they grew. Fear had never held a place in his heart in regard to her...what could have changed?

Tired of pondering, Gerome jams a pillow under his head. His final conscious prayer is for a blissful, dreamless sleep.

If only he were so lucky.

* * *

**A/N: Well, here we are. Welcome, lovely readers, to my OTP.**

**Rather angsty, eh? I didn't bother to count how many times I used the word "death" in its many forms. I know it's a lot.**

**The real question is, why am I posting this before updating Moments in Time? Which is a fantastic question. Since I'm sick in bed, I'm trying to get some things done that I've been meaning to. This story was one of those things. Moments in Time is another. Hopefully I'll get something up over there today. If not, expect something within the week, and accept my sincerest apology.**

**I adore sweet reviews, but I love constructive criticism even more. Both are accepted lovingly.**

**Until next time, everyone.**


	3. II

_**II — In which a new dark knight rises**_

* * *

_"I will go alone."_

_Everyone speaks at once. In no time, their voices become shouting, then chaos. Cynthia begins to cry, and Noire tries in vain to comfort her. Severa and Kjelle turn their objections upon each other and move to senseless bickering. Owain thrashes around, screeching something about how "a hero must never lose sight of the star that guides him," while Inigo beside him cries in exasperation at his sister. Brady attempts to subdue them both, but he makes sure to voice his own loud concerns. Yarne screams at the commotion from his hiding place under the table, and Nah heaves a heavy sigh as she dives down to retrieve him. Even Laurent joins the fray, shouting his carefully calculated arguments over the insanity._

_Only Gerome sits silently, absorbing Lucina's words. He tries to appear nonchalant, but his whitening knuckles prove otherwise._

_"Stop it!"_

_Morgan's shrill cry pierces the clamor, and an eerie hush travels across the war room. All eyes turn to the tiny tactician._

_Her look of distaste is hastily replaced with a satisfied smile. She turns to Lucina and The Voice beside her. "There. Thought that might do it."_

_Laurent immediately interjects. "If I may, I would voice my plea to the exalt."_

_Lucina winces at his final word. Realizing his mistake, Laurent scrambles to correct himself. "M-my sincerest apologies. Lucina, if I might—"_

_She raises a hand to stop him. "No. You illuminate the truth as always, Laurent. I have run from that title for too long."_

_Everyone in the room watches Lucina as she rises from her seat at the head of the long table and begins to pace nervously. Her hardened gaze bores holes of frustration into the floor._

_The Voice is the first one to speak. "Their indignation is grounded, Lucina. There is no need for you to face this alone."_

_"But don't you see—?" She halts immediately, noticing the sharp edge to her voice. "Ah, please forgive my insolence."_

_Tiki chuckles. "There is nothing for me to forgive. Please, speak your mind."_

_Lucina inhales deeply, turning to address them all. "This world has left all of us with wounds deeper than anyone should have to bear. Physical ones, yes, from this terrible war, but even deeper ones left on our hearts." She pauses, struggling with her words. "All of our parents are...gone. They were torn from us long before they should have, leaving behind scars that might never heal. Would you have me rip open those scars anew by dangling parents before your eyes who are not truly yours?"_

_The room is silent for an achingly long time. The harsh reality in her statement weighs upon them all, sealing their voices in their throats._

_Finally, Severa mumbles, "So what?"_

_"What do you mean?" Lucina inquires._

_"I mean, so what? It's not like I'm dying to see my parents or anything." Her voice cracks with sorrow, but that doesn't dampen her razor-sharp tone. "But I do need to know you're okay, all right? Is that too much to ask?"_

_Again, a cacophony of pleas fill the air, and Lucina looks lost in their voices. Morgan tries to calm them once more. Nah, who had since given up on coaxing Yarne out from under the table, joins her, but the impact is not as impressive as before._

_Gerome stands._

_That does get some attention. Inigo is the first to notice. "Gerome has something to say!"_

_The eerie silence returns again, but this time, all eyes fall on Gerome. He forces his knees to stop quaking._

**_What am I doing...?_**

_It's too late to reconsider. The words begin to fall from his lips._

_"All of you are either deaf or selfish," he says bluntly. "None of you realize the meaning of Lucina's words. She hopes to save us, both from death and the heartache of our losses. This is a gift, and none of you are gracious enough to accept it."_

_Pausing for a lengthy breath, he turns to the blue-haired young woman. "Lucina, I am grateful for you. I have unwavering faith in your strength and cunning. I can think of no one better to venture into the past. And if you must do so alone, so be it. If that is your choice, I will not question your judgement."_

_She blinks at him, a little shocked. "T-thank you, Gerome..."_

_He dips his head and takes his seat. He had just spoken more words here than he had said in the past year to anyone, and he only half-believes in them. It feels like his sacred duty to protect her, a position he'd unofficially inherited from his father. He wants to go wherever she does. He wants to cut down anyone in her path._

_But her words ring true to him. The moment he'd see Cherche or Frederick, he wouldn't be able to handle himself. How could he to save their world, much less Lucina, if the sight of his parents drove him mad?_

_"At least take me with ya!" Brady cries. "I can't do much, but I'll heal ya if ya get hurt!"_

_Kjelle crosses her arms noisily. "Don't be an idiot. She needs someone strong to protect her. Take me, Lucina."_

_"I'm a dragon," Nah says. "Enough said. Take me."_

_"This is madness, Lucina," Inigo chuckles. "Surely you don't intend to leave without your little brother to protect you?"_

_"Lucina," The Voice says, urgent yet gentle. "There is wisdom in all their words. But in the end, this is your decision, and only you may make it."_

_Lucina doesn't speak. She only gazes at Gerome, and he knows immediately what that decision will be. It hasn't changed since the first moment she thought of it. None of their words have affected her thoughts, none besides his. He'd fed her the confidence she needed, and now she would leave them, just as he had urged her to._

_Her mouth opens to speak the fateful words. But before the sound reaches his ears—_

_—the world falls apart._

_A sudden, gargantuan force sends them all flying backward, making the ceiling give way and the ground split apart. Their cries are drowned out by the deep laughter of a thousand demons. The room is swallowed in a cloud of dust and shrapnel. The only things Gerome sees as he is vaulted through the air are six glowing crimson eyes blinking through the haze._

_What happens next moves by too quickly to react. He is too preoccupied with watching the others to realize his own predicament. Gerome braces for impact too late, and lands awkwardly on his leg. He hisses with pain as every bone in his body shudders._

_Then, he notices the pebbles raining on his head. He looks up to see the ceiling, ready to cave right on top of him. Panicked, he scrambles underneath a few pieces of nearby rubble just before the falling stones can crush him. Minutes pass, and finally he ventures forth from his hiding place, dragging his injured left leg behind him._

_"Minerva, to me!" His trembling words blend with the dust and catch in his throat. He forces down the coughs that want to burst free, desperately searching the settling cloud for his comrades._

_He spots Laurent lying not too far off against a few pieces of the fallen walls, and limps immediately to his side. The mage's spectacles are nowhere to be found. Blood dribbles from his temple and coats the hand he rests on his ribcage. He shudders violently with each breath, unable to focus as Gerome kneels beside him._

_"Ger...ome...?"_

_Hearing his name in Laurent's weakening voice fills Gerome with sorrow. He'd never paid much mind to the mage, but he's always admired him in a way. Laurent is logical and rational, to a fault at times, but he really cares about the others. So much, in fact, he's made it his job to approach each of them, ensuring their welfare and securing the supplies they need to survive. Though overly scholarly on the outside, on the inside, Laurent is everything Gerome wishes he could be. To lose one so proactive and considerate wrenches at his heart._

_"Yes," he says quietly. "Yes, it's me. You'll...you'll be okay."_

_"You...you n-needn't—" Laurent's sad smile morphs into a wince. The air he inhales hisses sharply over his teeth._

_Gerome reaches out instinctively to help, to somehow lift the poor man's burden from him, but his hands freeze where they are. What is he to do? He has no first aid supplies, nor has he studied any healing magic. Brady had always covered all that, and Cynthia in minimal respects (she'd studied as a cleric in her younger years; she'd quickly traded that endeavor for a snowy white pegasus). There had been nothing more Gerome to do but train and grow strong enough to prevent the injuries they treated. Now he sits helpless over the dying man he'd failed to protect and could not save. Boulders sink down in his stomach as he realizes: there is absolutely nothing he can do to save Laurent._

_Laurent seems to understand. Through a face scrunched with much pain, he gives Gerome something resembling a knowing smile. "I'll...b-be fine," he insists weakly._

_Gerome feels his hands fall limp at his sides. He watches the mage's keen eyes search the scene, feeling a sense of utter dread._

_It takes him a moment to notice Laurent's shaking finger pointing across the crevasse in the room. In a hoarse voice the wyvern rider can barely hear, the dying man speaks his final words._

_"Help...Lucina..."_

_The rider sees the mage's arm collapse. He watches his eyes close. He witnesses the man's final breath._

_Gerome rubs at his eyes, wicking away tears before they can fall._

_Steadying his breath, he looks out beyond the settling cloud of dust. He must fulfill the dying wish of Laurent, the comrade he hardly had the pleasure to know. Besides, if Lucina's still out there—and alive, for that matter—his priority is protecting her._

_Sure enough, he spots the blue swaying locks of a certain princess far on the other side of the newly-formed chasm. Her shoulders shudder with deep, panicked breaths. Falchion is in her hands, held out before her defensively. And in the void beyond her are those six blinking red eyes he knows so well._

_She is squaring off with Grima himself._

_Gerome tries to break into a run, but he curses at the painful reminder of his leg. "Minerva!" he screeches this time. He'd never make it over the chasm without her, and he has to. He just has to._

_This time, she hears him. The wyvern swoops in through the missing ceiling, letting loose a screech of her own, and lands on the unsteady remains of the floor. Gerome heaves into her saddle, sparing a few more curses for himself and the leg, and urges his great beast into the air without a moment's notice. Though the faster she appears to fly, Lucina seems farther and farther away._

_He grits his teeth at the wind whipping over his body. Minerva's powerful wings beat frantically against the currents, but it is useless. They will never make it._

_And then, the demon speaks._

**_"YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER...ARE DEAD, TINY ONE."_**

_Gerome watches Lucina reel back, and his heart breaks._

**_"AND NOW IT IS YOUR TURN..."_**

_"Minerva!" he calls, digging his heels into her scaly skin._

_She cries out in a mixture of indignation and sorrow. She cannot go any faster._

**_"...TO DIE!"_**

_Grima lunges, his enormous maw gaping. Gerome barely hears Lucina's final scream above his own._

_"Lucina!"_

Gerome sits up straight in his bed, panting.

It had began as a memory, a haunting reminder of the words that had damned his exalt. Then it had twisted into his worst nightmare. But in the end, it had been just a dream.

Just a dream, yet he trembles like a child.

With an aggravated huff, he leaps from his bed and begins to pace the room, lit by the dreary midmorning sun. It had been years since he had dreamt of anyone besides his parents. Night after night, their deaths tore him to shreds. But tonight, a different man and a different woman had lost their lives in his dreamscape. What could have brought on this change? Certainly guilt and apprehension of Lucina's upcoming journey, but how could that explain Laurent?

And what of his emotions? He is in tatters now, as he is most mornings when he awakens, but this morning it is different somehow. Sobs want to burst from his throat, but they do not come. His chest feels as though it might implode, and his palms are clammy enough to fill buckets.

He pauses to inspect his hands in the watery sunlight. They feel tainted, as they always do, with the blood of those he could not save. Today, though, that does not bring the familiar sting of tears. It brings shock, as cold as steel, gripping tight to every part of him.

This nightmare had been no twisted memory. It had been a premonition, he is sure of it.

Gerome catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall. He steps towards it, grimacing at his sorry condition. His shoulders are slumped forward. Dark stubble peppers his filthy face. His chocolate hair, the same hue as his father's, hangs haphazardly off his head. He can't remember the last time he bathed.

He rakes back his father's hair, and stares at his mother's eyes in the mirror. He is what they left behind. He is their legacy. It's high time for him to stop feeling sorry for himself, and set out to do right by them.

He whips around suddenly. His gaze drifts about the room until it lands on an object on his bedside table. Without a moment's hesitation, he snatches it up.

The leather cord feels greasy in his fingers. He ties the two ends into a hasty knot behind his head, arranging his limp hair to conceal it. His fingers next search his features, assuring him that indeed, the object is perching atop his nose as it should be.

Gerome returns to his reflection. He turns his head to and fro, assessing his new image. It will do nicely, he determines. His new face has no emotions, no weaknesses. It hinders his peripheral vision a great deal, but that isn't anything a little more training can't fix. This mask will be his wall, a barrier of safety between himself and everyone else. No one would get too close.

He is the lone wolf, after all. This is as it should be.

* * *

**A/N: PHEW! Very glad I could get this done, finally. I didn't think I could, but here we are.**

**Right around the end of this chapter, I began to realize I'm turning Gerome into Batman, hence the weird title. I didn't mean to, I swear! Then again, he's a traumatized boy with no parents who grabs a black mask and goes to fight the bad guys... Plus, angst is the only language I can write with anything resembling fluency. It was bound to happen.**

**I get so giddy looking back on the reviews for this story. I'm pleasantly surprised by how much appreciation there is for this pairing out there! I feel a little bad for fooling a lot of you into thinking I'm a great writer, but nevertheless, such praises make me happy to write, happy to publish, and happy to be alive. Much love for all the reviewers out there: smileplease91, Acqua Sole, reimei, Auraheart, Gunlord500, VelleVette, and Dame Mond. Feel very appreciated, because you are. (:**

**Happy new year, everyone! Until next time.**


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